YOU NEED TO GROW UP
by Draikinator
Summary: Tailgate tells a story. Pre-cybercrosis.


Tailgate wasn't a huge fan of engex.

The high-quality energon rations he'd been picking up in the mess hall since he'd boarded the ship had definitely been nice- a huge improvement over the crude stuff he'd always known. The first time he'd tasted it he had sputtered and coughed and nearly spat it back out- it was too concentrated, too full of energy, too _good_, but Swerve had laughed and said that that was what happened when you fasted for six million years, and no one seemed to have wondered if he was having trouble with it because he had never tasted anything _filtered_ before-_  
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No one seemed to even consider he might be lying.

The engex though, was too much. Far too much. It was concentrated in an uncomfortable way and the charge burned against his intake when he swallowed, only to slosh in his tanks, a dull, continuous ache of_ too much_ energy. It was a hundred times more intense than the crude stuff. Tailgate didn't like it.

Well, Tailgate the _waste disposal unit_ didn't like it. Tailgate the _champion kickboxer_ and recipient of dozens of awards and the favour of Nova Prime himself _loved_ engex, and Tailgate the waste disposal unit wasn't supposed to exist anymore.

He tipped back the glowing cyan drink- this time, he knew how to angle it into his intake properly to get the suction to work without a straw. He hadn't last time he'd tried it, but as long as he laughed and said he wasn't a morning person everyone would laugh along and not accuse him of something he had definitely done. He'd been watching Rewind drink all night and was copying the way he tilted his face back and let gravity do the work.

He set the glass back down on the bar.

"So, little guy," The dark, visored mech beside him slurred and Tailgate glanced at him- what was his name? Pathcutter? Trailblazer? "I been tellin' all the stories, why don't you tell one for once, eh?"

Tailgates intake spiraled down dryly and he was glad he'd snapped the cover shut already, "What? Aw, come on, buddy, all my stories are ancient! There's probably no surprises in them."

The other mech laughed heartily, heavily, loudly, "I don't think anyone in this room was even alive in your hayday, buddy. Give us a history lesson, then! Maybe tell us about one of those medals you earned, huh?"

Tailgate visor flared and he held it, hoping people would mistake the brightness for enthusiasm instead of blind panic, "Sure, yeah, alright then! So, there was this one time, in, er-" he struggled to grab place names, he really hadn't had much time to pick up that kind of information- "In the, um-" he scrambled and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "in the upper gamma quadrant of Sellox 4-" an entirely random string of words he really hoped he would remember, but space was so big and- and everyone was _nodding_, so he just continued, "I was piloting this great big ship, right?"

"What wuzzit called, dude?" Whirl called over to him- someone who's name he actually had manage to remember, probably because he kept yelling it.

"It was the- the-" suddenly, he remember a broadcast he had watched once, a week after he'd been forged, a bleary, six million year old series there was no way anyone here could possibly be familiar with- "It was called the_ Axalon_," he said, "and I was the Captain! Yeah, it was my ship, and I was steering it, and these- uh, these pirates were chasing us. Yeah, cuz we were delivering this _super dangerous_ cargo off-world."

"Ooh, how dangerous?" Whirl piped up again, scissoring his claws in a way that suggested intrigue.

"So dangerous," Tailgate said dangerously, "I can't even tell you what it _is_."

There was a quiet murmur in the crowd, obviously impressed.

"Anyway, we were carrying it off world," he continued, "and we were supposed to drop it on an uninhabited planet really far away, but these- uh- _pirates_ were after us. We tried to lose 'em in a wormhole, but no luck." There was some looks of surprise- scrap, were wormholes a real thing? He wasn't sure, but he talked faster so no one would have a chance to interject, "And that's when the pirates caught us, and shot us down over this little rock planet. The ship was totally out of control, like, spinning and on fire and stuff, and the pr- the pirates landed near us. The ship crashed into a mountain and I stumble out of the wreckage and the pirates are already there. I whip out my handy-dandy lazer rifle-" Tailgate jumped onto his chair, holding his hands together like a gun, "and start blastin' through em. One! Two! Three! There had to be dozens, but I fought 'em off and got to the captain, and I say to him, I say to him- um, I say to him, stop right there, pirate! My name is Tailgate, and I bet you've heard of me!" Swerve was leaning on the bar now, slackjawed for once, all eyes in the room on his and his scrap story he was pulling out of his aft, "This is your final chance to surrender! I said- I said that- gotta give 'em a chance, you know? Anyway, then he laughs and says _never_, and I shoot him! But he's got his shields up, so I charge at him, dodging his lazer fire, and tackle him right off the side of the ship!"

"Ya don't look like ya weigh that much," Rewind said, his engex clenched untouched his hands at the end of the bar. Chromedome nodded along with him, but he wasn't having any issues finishing his drink.

"He _was_ pretty short," Tailgate amended, "but he was tricked out with a ton of weapons! He had, like, fifty guns in him, and like, a flamethrower."

"Hey! How'd you know it was a flamethrower?" Whirl asked, waving a claw to get his attention. From what Tailgate had gathered, Whirl _loved_ stories with lots of guns.

"Duh, he shot me with it on the way down," Tailgate said, met with sage nods all around, "And then, on the way down,_ I'm_ on fire, and _he's_ on fire, and, and _we're_ on fire- and then we land in all this water! And cuz he's got all those guns and stuff, he's real heavy, and then, and then, he sinks, but _I _manage to get back up to the surface. That's when I scaled the mountain and took his ship back to Cybertron."

There was a low whistle in the crowd, "And what of your dangerous cargo?" Drift asked, holding something that didn't look like engex.

"Left it. The planet was uninhabited."

"Uh… What about your crew?" Rewind asked, cocking his head to the side.

Tailgate paused, for dramatic effect, before looking distantly up and away from everyone, "They all _died_."

There was a round of gasps and at least one "neat" he suspected came from Whirl.

He sat back down, "Yeah, I got a medal for that one, too." There was a hearty cheer, just before Whirl launched into another story about danger and war that while probably exaggerated, also had the actual possibility of being true.

Unlike some stories.

He swallowed the last of his engex, and it burned down his intake in an unpleasant way. Why did anyone like this stuff?

Tailgate put his head down against the cool metal of the bar, listening to Whirl describe precisely how he had removed a Decepticon's helm from his neck in a barfight once. He needed to commit his last story to memory in case he was asked to tell it again. He needed to drink another glass so he wouldn't risk looking like a lightweight. He needed to pick his head up so it wouldn't look like he got tired so early in the off shift. He needed to pay attention to Whirl's story, he needed to be absorbing data all the time before anyone noticed how little he knew. He needed to do a lot of things, but all he wanted to do was let the cold metal rest against his forehead and bring down his internal temperature, which was rising uncomfortably due to the engex.

He'd never had a real "home" in the warm, fuzzy way he'd seen on the holovids and he certainly didn't want to go back to before he fell- the labour and the degradation and the innate worthlessness he had (still had) but despite all that, he felt "_I wanna go home_" in the pit of his tanks, hot and nostalgic for things he'd never even had.

He almost wished someone would call him out on his scrap lies so he could stop trying to live up to the insane expectations he kept building up for himself.

He wanted a home to want to go to.

He picked up his head and waved to Swerve for another glass.


End file.
